


Bury Me Face Down

by LonelyGodsMuse



Category: Teen Wolf (TV), The Originals (TV)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Aftermath of Violence, Always Female Stiles Stilinski, Cis Female Stiles Stilinski, Cussing, Female Stiles Stilinski, Fuck the tv show, Hayley Lives, Hayley Marshall is my fave, Hayley and Stiles friendship, I fixed it, Klaus and Hayley Friendship, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Multi, Non Season 5 Compliant, Pre-Stiles Stilinski/Klaus Mikaelson, Queen Hayley Marshall, Tattooed Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-01
Updated: 2018-10-01
Packaged: 2019-07-23 10:44:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16157426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LonelyGodsMuse/pseuds/LonelyGodsMuse
Summary: Hayley Marshall Kenner is dead and Stiles Stilinski refuses to let that be true.  She arrives in New Orleans hellbent on saving her friend--no matter the cost.





	Bury Me Face Down

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all! First off, I want to apologize for how long it has been since I have been on here and how long it has been since I have updated APSAG. I have NOT abandoned it. Life took a left turn down a mountain and slammed me face first into both writer's block and a slightly upended life. I am still trying to get my bearings with all the changes that have come up since my last update. I also do not have access to a computer as often as I used to at the moment--I graduated guys and left my home country to pursue a Masters! I hope to work on more chapters for APSAG and get beyond my writer's block. This idea came to me and I hope that despite it's semi-unpolished form, you find some enjoyment in it. This is the first fandom piece I have been able to write in almost a year. I just want you all to know that the story has NOT been abandoned--it is still very much being worked on and loved. It's just taking a bit longer than I wanted.
> 
> Anyone not interested in APSAG- I hated the final season (more than just that one, let's be honest) and how they disrespected my favorite character of Hayley Marshall so I fixed it. I hope you enjoy this short story of mine. 
> 
> All comments are more than welcome. Please enjoy! The title is from Grandson's song of the same title. I felt the lyrics were appropriate. I may return occasionally to tweak some things as I get back into my groove as a writer so please do not be alarmed. Enjoy!

“Stupid fucking werewolves who think they know better.  Burning a body. Are you fucking kidding me? Oh no! Of course, the body wasn’t burnt enough. _Oh no_ ! We just _have_ to Viking funeral pyre this bitch up because _why the hell not_?  It’s not like you all couldn’t have called me and left everything the fuck alone--”

The familiar voice kept ranting as Hayley gasped, her chest pitching upwards.  The gasps burning her throat, her last screams catching in her chest—expanding and falling.  Something that shouldn’t be happening anymore. Her hand flew to her chest, clutching at where the phantom hand had punched through, grasping her heart, just seconds ago.  

The skin beneath her hand was smooth, unblemished—no raw, ripped open wound from Greta’s hand, no burned flesh from her brief dalliance with the sun.  She could remember the fire—the blood as lava in her veins, bubbling from the inside out, the fire licking her flesh until she was nothing but a burnt, broken husk on the sun warmed concrete.  

“Oh good.  You’re up.”  That familiar voice broke through the loud silence in her head.  She turned to face the individual who had been ranting quite loudly in the background of her thoughts.  

There was a woman standing in front of her, hands on her jean clad hips, her black leather jacket stretched across her shoulders.  The hair around her face was long and a dark brown—almost black that was lying naturally curled around her glaring, pale and mole speckled face. The eyes that met Hayley’s were blazing golden supernaturally.  They were not the eyes of a werewolf or hybrid. They were familiar though. Her heart gave a dull thud as the memories broke through.

“Stiles.”  She breathed, her voice quiet now in the silence.

An eyebrow rose incredulously before a furrow dipped between her brows.  “Stiles? _Stiles_ .  That’s all you have to say to me?  Really? I just came back from literal _hell_ to find out that not only are Nazi’s back— _are you fucking kidding me about that? Really? You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!_  We’ll get back to that.”  Stiles shook her head, her hands pinwheeling through the air.  “But not only is _that_ something.  Oh no! I come back and you, my awesome hybrid buddy, are not just missing, _oh no_ , you had to get kidnapped because of my niece—don’t even fucking give me _that_ look.  Oh no. You’re kidnapped and then tortured and _then_ murdered!”

“I am aware,” came the dry reply.  Hayley began searching around the structure they were in.  It was a home—and one she recognized. It was the shack on the bayou.  The wooden floorboards were just beneath her back and the sheet she was still partially lying on.  A pile of clothes was within arm’s reach and she extended her hand to grasp them as Stiles geared up for another spate of words.  She listened as she dressed, the clothes sliding against her newly formed skin.

“And not only were you murdered.  Nope. Your buddies, the pack, bless their hearts truly, decided to wave you goodbye in a boat that they decided to set alight.  That means _on fire_ .  You know, if you weren’t aware.  So, my skinny ass had to go climbing into that bayou water and use some fun little magic to reconstitute you alongside what I got from the house where you were held _captive and tortured_ .  We could’ve _Supernatural-ed_ this, I hope you know.  But no. Your pack had to be all noble and shit.”

Hayley stood, adjusting the clothes and stretching out her numbed limbs.  Stiles stopped her pacing and ranting to face Hayley, her own face red due to exertion and her shouted words which still rung slightly in the ensuing silence.  

“I remember everything, Stiles.  And I know the traditions of my pack.”  She paused, thinking back briefly before shaking her head.  “How is Hope? Have you seen her? Is she okay?”

“I checked on her before I found you.  She’s grieving but okay. The power is growing in her though.  I can feel the precipice she is about to tip over. Your family is with her.”  Stiles steps towards Hayley until they are close enough to be touching. She lowers her voice, “It’s good to see you again. I wish it were under different circumstances though.”

Hayley nodded, looking her friend in the eyes, taking in any new changes to her appearance.  There was nothing too noticeable from the skin that was not covered by her jacket—just new bruises beneath her now darker golden eyes.  Her friend was tired once more—they will have to change that. Before she opens her mouth again, Stiles beats her to it. “I know where they’ll be.  How about we go say ‘hi’?” The smirk that spread across her lips was not kind, her eyes flashing that magical, deadly gold. They found their companions as Hayley’s shifted to match.

* * *

 

Stiles looked at Hayley beside her as she embraced Hope.  She was still covered in the viscera of their prey, but Hope didn’t seem to mind as she clutched onto her mother sobbing.  Hayley was in a similar state of distress and Stiles stepped away from the duo to leave them to their reunion. Her heart thudded dully at the reminder she would never have such a thing and she shoved the thought away without prejudice.  

Looking up from her internal debacle, she saw Freya and Keelin holding each other close, their eyes overflowing with tears as they took looked onto the sight before them. From another room, Marcel stood in the doorway, his expression one of disbelief until he looked towards Stiles.  The disbelief cleared and he dipped his head in acknowledgement before facing the huddled figures. Beside him was a man Stiles had never seen in person—only in paintings, photographs, and heard about through tales tinged in either fear or melancholy. So, this was Niklaus Mikaelson. She could see where the appeal was for Hayley.  

The man before her at Marcel’s side was taller than him and of a pale complexion to Marcel’s darker skin tone.  He had curly blonde hair that was close cropped to his head, his eyes large and bursting with expression, silver lining the piercing green as they shifted from the collapsed and sobbing forms of Hayley and Hope to where Stiles stood just beside them.  

She dismissed their assessment entirely and began the familiar trek from the courtyard to the room beside Hayley’s that she had occupied before.  She frequently thought back on those days both with annoyance and with a certain fondness that she has not been able to recreate. She had always meant to return to New Orleans.  If only the reasoning for her return was not as dire or devastating as they were.

Finding her bedroom the same way she had left it those few years ago, Stiles locked the door—not that it would actually do much should someone in the household wish to get in, and stripped her travel and battle worn clothing off on the way to the bathroom so she could wash away the blood, sweat, and bayou that clung to her skin.

* * *

 

The morning was quiet. As though the world knew that a loud sound could break open the fragile peace that had descended upon the household shortly after Hayley and Stiles’ bloody arrival.  Even the jazz musicians outside appeared to be heralding in a moment of peaceful serenity as they play moving, silent dirges that pull at Hayley’s newly moving heartstrings.

She placed a hand upon her chest, feeling it rise and fall with breath, feeling the leap and stutter of her heart—whole and beating just beneath the sun warmed surface.  The new markings at the base of her spine a testament to Stiles and her power. She only caught a view of them briefly after she had parted from Hope to clean up the blood that had slathered her form.  She did not know what exactly the symbols meant but the intent was clear as day to her—she was standing before the sunlight and not burning. She could also feel the wolf beneath her flesh, pacing just beneath the thin skin, snarling, prowling—wanting to run beneath the full moon that was fast approaching.

She wondered silently at what it cost her friend.  What she gave up returning to Hayley a piece of herself.  Of her soul. She wondered if she should even ask.

Josh had already come and gone to see Hayley with his own eyes.  He had told her before departing for the night that he would tell the pack and Vincent that Hayley had come back.  Once he learned it was Stiles’ doing he promised to keep her name out of it. Not wanting to spare anymore time away from her daughter, Hayley had nodded, said her thanks, and returned to her side where she had promptly fallen asleep.

When she awoke she was glad to note that Hope was still sleeping deeply and that her friend was still asleep in her own room.  If memory served correctly, Stiles would not be rising for quite some time. And after the miracle that was Hayley’s resurrection, it could be quite a deal longer.

The sun warmed her—a miracle she would want to be in it again so soon after it had so cruelly and recently accelerated her death, another thought she pushed aside ruthlessly. She felt the looming presence behind her but did not turn, only sipped on her quickly cooling coffee.  

“I presume the rest of Greta’s followers have been taken care of, love?”

“Yes. Stiles and I dealt with them.”

“Ah yes,” He drawled as he began to saunter in—he did love to saunter, she smirked to herself. “Our new house guest.  I was wondering when we would get to her. But first,” He stepped closer to her, his front almost touching her back. She did not flinch.  “Are you alright, love? How is this possible? I saw you burn.” He choked out.

Hayley turned to face him.  His eyes were bright, his expression haunted and body filled with tension as he took her in from head to foot—what he could from his close proximity.  

She took a deep breath and pulled her left hand through her hair—a habit she had picked up from Stiles in the short time they had spent together.  “I met Stiles a few years ago. She helped me out with a situation and I helped her. We became friends. Hope calls her Aunt Stiles. She tried to find a way to break the curse that had all of us separated and last I heard, she was still trying.  I don’t know if she’s found something but… she’s here now.”

Hayley watched Klaus pull in a breath and shift his focus outside the bubble they had painted for themselves.  The view from the balcony was the same as it always was but there were less people walking the streets of New Orleans today.  It was as if they sensed that something large had happened but that they lacked a frame of reference, the context, to paint it in.  The silence was jarring, chafing against how the two had become accustomed to the lively streets sounding.

“Is she a danger to us?”

The answer was quick, nothing left to chance or misinterpretation.  “No.”

Klaus nodded.  “And what of Elijah?”  

Hayley had not heard Klaus utter his brother’s name in such defeat in the years she had known him. She looked internally herself as she considered his question.  Her answer was halting and slow. “Stiles already has a plan in motion. I trust her.”

She saw him turn to her from the corner of her eye. “Do you truly trust her so completely, Little Wolf?”

Smiling softly at his loving nickname, she nodded and murmured, “With my life.”

* * *

 

Rousseau’s was hopping.  There were gleeful shouts and the music was just loud enough to sweep one into a whirlwind of emotion but low enough you didn’t have to shout in the bartender’s ear. Declan was serving tonight and honestly if Hayley didn’t have an almost thing with the man, Stiles would almost be interested.  The Irish accent was doing things for her and every story she had gleaned from Hayley—as well as a few she had collected herself a few years ago, had Stiles internally swooning.

Stiles’ whiskey was cold against the palm of here hand, the ice clinking against the glass as she sets it down on the bar top after her latest drink.  Declan is there before she even says a word and refills it with a smile and wink before he moves on down the bar.

“Would you fancy some company, love?”  

Stiles smirks into her glass as she waves her free hand to the empty seat to her left.  The black coated figure slips into the chair and sprawls slightly as he waves down Declan who nods and returns to the customer he was serving.

“Fancy a drink at our local establishment?”  Stiles only smirked in response and she watched as the blonde man’s lips quirked slightly at being denied a verbal answer.   _This is quite fun._

“So, Hayley tells me that you have a plan for my dear brother, Elijah.”  He leads. At this Stiles sets down her drink and turns slightly to face him.  “I do. You’ll have him back shortly.”

His eyes spark, “And what exactly does that mean?”

Her own glow slightly before returning to their natural colour, “His memories have been returned.  He’s stewing in his grief right now.”

She watches him straighten in his chair.  “What do you mean? What grief?”

“I mean that he doesn’t know Hayley’s alive. As far as he is concerned, he aided in her murder.”

Klaus began to rise but she flashed her eyes and he was forced into his seat, their eyes meeting, hard gold to burning gold.  “Hayley is my friend and he broke her heart. He broke her trust. And he is one of the reasons she died. I’ve included the knowledge that Hayley is alive, but he does not deserve it yet.”  Stiles voice is cold, devoid of anything but righteous anger. And Klaus’ is the same.

“And who, pray tell, are you to determine what my brother needs to know or deserves?”  He growled out.

“I’m the one who gathered the ashes of her broken, burned body and brought her back to life—wolf soul and all.  You don’t get to question me or my motivations Niklaus Mikaelson.”

The tension was only broken by Declan arriving and asking what Klaus would like.  

“Whatever the lady is having.”  Stiles watched Declan nod from the corner of her eye, get Klaus his drink, and walk away while still eyeing the two.

Klaus was the first to break the battle of wills they were having as he tilted his drink back—draining half of it in one go as Stiles sipped hers.  

“You’ve destroyed the Hollow.  That is no easy feat.” He mused.

“You could just say thank you.  It is what polite people do when you’ve saved someone’s lives and ended a curse that kept their family separated.”

“Thank you for saving the lives of my family and ending our curse.” He paused a moment, parsing his words. “I have missed enough of my daughter’s life.  And I will admit I was devastated as I faced the idea that Hope would grow up without her mother. There is much my family owes you. And I do not like to be the one owing.”

Stiles shook her head slightly.  “Fucking vampires. And hybrids. And werewolves.  Just the supernatural. You all have issues. Seriously all I asked for was a ‘thank you’ and instead I get a thank you wrapped in emotional man pain and topped with a threat.  Jesus, Hayley was right about you. Whatever, you’re welcome. For everything. I’ll collect when I need to.”

A choking sound came from her left and a smile flitted briefly across her face at catching the Original so off guard that he would splutter through alcohol.

“At least I arrived in time to stop you from doing something foolish like killing yourself to save your daughter.  As anti-climactic and ill-advised as that is—and not to mention stupid. I mean you remedy your daughter losing her mother by offing yourself and simultaneously turning her into an orphan?  My way was much more expedient. And sane. Seriously. Idiots, the lot of you.” She paused in her rant, “Now, if you don’t mind, I would like to finish my drink and continue to rest in peace for the rest of the evening.”

She watched him gather himself and nod as though he were parsing his way through her small speech—she’s used to it and so allows him a moment to catch up.  “I’ve heard that my daughter has taken to calling you her aunt. Am I to know the story behind how you’ve taken such a foothold in her and Hayley’s lives or am I to be left in the dark in regards to that as well?”

A smirk stretched Stiles’ mouth.  “That’s quite a long story. I doubt we know each other well enough.”

A matching smirk. “How long did you intend on staying?”

A considering hum rattled out of Stiles’ chest to match her dancing eyes as she clinked her glass to Klaus’, the clink ringing out even in the cacophony of sounds ricocheting around the bar as their eyes locked once more.

  
  



End file.
